The land speaks with gestures of instant significance. Trees drop snow in sudden tumbles of meaning. Faded memories begin to glow, rekindled in embers of fires built to thaw frozen battlegrounds before we dig in. Magic walks the trapline with us. Sometimes with the fox’s straight, sure steps. Sometimes with the wolverine’s wandering trail. Sometimes disappearing with the grouse’s brushing wings. At first, the words are simple echoes. Voices from a distant fog— forgotten, but not inaudible. At an empty trap, we open the faded green, army surplus pack to find leather and licorice, castor, anise oil, fermented salmon eggs, a little beaver meat, raspberry jam, and the slightest tang of rum, an original anti-freeze. Then, while we smear the blue marten lure on pine trunks, color bleeds into clean white snow and smells spill out. We remember when he said “the land gives you the words - words to fall in love with the scent of this place.”
Will Falk (he/him) is a poet, attorney, and community organizer. He writes poems while traveling across the US to offer free legal services to communities fighting against extractive projects like mines, pipelines, and clear-cuts. His poems have appeared through Chapter House Journal, ONE ART, Sheila-na-gig Online, and Wayfarer Magazine, among others. His first poetry collection is When I Set the Sweetgrass Down (Wayfarer Books, 2023).
